


Home

by nmd529



Series: Returning Home [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nmd529/pseuds/nmd529
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane never considered herself as the adventurous type. After all, she spent most of her life with her nose buried in her books, experiencing love and life through others. But after tragedy rocks her family, she's forced to move in with her grandparents in Beacon Hills. There she stumbles upon a vicious chain of murders, a brewing war, and an enigmatic man haunted by his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**As a fan of Teen Wolf from the very beginning, I’ve been dying to write a story like this.  Only Jane Brown and her immediate family are mine; everyone else belong to the creators at MTV.  Without further ado, here is chapter one:**

* * *

 

Rain lashed against the old windows of Beacon Hills Library; thunder forced the entire building to shudder in protest.  The sky above was so dark that any common observer would have supposed that it was at least eight o’clock at night, and not mid-afternoon.  Wind rattled the metal street signs so viciously that they were nearly torn out of the ground.  The roads were almost deserted, the storm frightening away any possible visitors for the library.  Only my co-worker, Mrs. Pollard, and me were working there that dreadful day; there were only a few people walking in that day, so our duties were mostly focused on retrieving books that, after a particularly loud clap of thunder, tumbled from the shelves and onto the dark carpet. 

“Jane?” asked Mrs. Pollard now, forcing me to look up from my Physics textbook and directly into her dark, weathered eyes.  “Can you go check on that girl in the back?  I don’t like leaving her alone with those public records.”

Holding in the urge to roll my eyes, I set the book upon the desk that I was sitting behind and got to my feet.  Honestly, Mrs. Pollard was far too old to still be working in the library; she was nearly seventy years old and only seemed to grow more bitter as each day in her life ticked by.  She was also ridiculously nosy, to the point where she was constantly butting into everyone’s lives, including, unfortunately, my own.  Not a day had gone by during those first months that I was working at the library when she hadn’t demanded to know every detail on my nearly non-existent personal life, from the type of toothpaste I used—“You know that teeth-whitening crap is going to rot your teeth away until you’ll be needing dentures when you graduate from college”—to if I had a boyfriend—“Want a life lesson?  Stay away from all men; all they do is eat and complain.  Definitely not worth your time.”

 “Sure, Mrs. Pollard,” I told the elderly woman with a friendly smile; if I had learned anything over the time I had worked with her, it would be never get on her bad side.  That would be a fatal mistake. 

“Good,” said Mrs. Pollard.  “Damn girl and her need to be here every day; honestly, what’s so exciting about the public archives?  Nothing, I tell you…”

Leaving her to her irritable ranting, I stepped away from the Information Desk and began to make my way to the back of the library, where the archives were located.  The scent of fresh ink and yellowing pages purged my senses, making me happily breath in the intoxicating air.  There truly was no better place than the library; it held all of my greatest passions in its quaint abode, from cookbooks to classic Victorian era novels to the biographies of past poets and authors.  It was my safe-house, the one place where I could truly be my happiest.   Despite all that had happened in the past year, nothing could drag me down while I was in the presence of so many incredible books. 

Shoving away those prodding memories, I entered the archive room, which was lined with file cabinets and bookshelves, filled with all of the information on Beacon Hills, California.  Well, almost all of it; there was some that would continue to elude the occasional researcher. 

Sitting alone at a long, wooden table was one person, a girl maybe a few years older than me.  Her head was ducked down, long dark hair forming a curtain around her fair face as she hastily read some packet of papers that she had pulled out from one of the filing cabinets. 

“Laura?” I asked her gently.  “Everything alright back here?”

She instantly jumped at the sound of my voice, startled by my sudden presence.  Her large green eyes blinked up at me, framed by a dark fringe of eyelashes.  Laura Hale tucked a stray strand of black hair behind her ear as she replied, “Yeah, I’m fine.  Just…still looking for…something.  You’re not locking up yet, are you?”

“Oh no,” I shook my head.  “No, you have a few more hours.  If you want, I can stay here after hours, if you need some more time back here?”

A strange smile spread across her face as she continued to regard me, her intense green stare gazing directly into my eyes.  “I should be alright.  Thank you, though.  I really do appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” I shrugged.  Biting my lip, I added, “I’ll just be up front if you need me, alright?”  Laura nodded as she resumed searching through the files before her, and I took this as an opportunity to leave her alone to work and return to the Information Desk. 

For the past couple weeks, Laura had arrived at the library just after nine o’clock and disappeared into the backroom of the library, diving straight into those archives and searching for whatever piece of information that was evading her.  Sometimes she would leave for a few hours, but she would always end up being here when we were forced to close up.  Then, the next morning, she would be sitting on those front steps, waiting for one of the librarian’s arrival.  It was a vicious cycle, one that she seemed intended to keep. 

Mrs. Pollard had made no effort to hide her distrust for the girl, whispering in her wake that she was far too meddlesome for her own good.  A bit hypocritical, of course, but what more could we expect from dear Mrs. Pollard?  As for me, I held no misgivings for Laura; she had always been polite and kind, although a bit secretive.  But, as my father had taught me since I was a young girl, I continued to show as much kindness to her as possible.  As she became a permanent fixation in the library, I would occasionally bring her a coffee when I was forced to make a run to the local café, or even offer her the extra cookie that I packed with my lunch.  I wasn’t positive on what made me desire to help her so much, but she certainly didn’t seem to mind all that much.  She’d even offer we exchange numbers a couple days before. 

“All set back there?” Mrs. Pollard asked me pryingly as I took my usual seat at the desk. 

“Yes,” I replied calmly, returning to my book and listening to the raging storm just outside the window beside me.  “Everything’s fine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

No matter how hard I tried, the exhaustion refused to desert my sleepy eyes.  As I drove home from the library, cooked dinner for my grandparents, and unpacked a few more of the boxes still holed up in my bedroom, I couldn’t seem to escape the fatigue that continued to plague me.  Despite the immense amount of chores I had left to complete, I threw myself upon my bed, ready to announce defeat to my enervation. 

As I closed my eyes, my phone began to vibrate in my jean pocket.  Groaning to myself, I pulled it out and, not bothering to look at the caller ID, answered it.  “Hello?” I practically gurgled as I began to burrow myself into my comforter and pillows. 

“Jane?”

Frowning at the slightly crackly, unfamiliar voice, I flipped onto my back and, gazing up at the bare ceiling, replied, “Yes, this is she.  Who is this?”

“It’s Laura.  Laura Hale.”

“Oh, hi, Laura,” I hastily said, sitting up.  Ever since I had given her my number, I hadn’t received a call or text from the strange girl; obviously this wasn’t just a standard checkup from a casual aquaintance.  “What’s up?”

“Well, I’m in a bit of a bind.  You’re not busy, are you?”

Glancing around at all of my unopened boxes and down at my exhausted body, I smiled at my invisible caller and replied, “Not at all.  What do you need?”

And thus, half an hour later, I was pulling into a rather seedy-looking motel on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, glancing at my GPS to make sure that this was, in fact, the right address that Laura had given me.  Fortunately, the storm had calmed down to a light drizzle, the cool rain coating the dark paint of my aging car.  But, the wispy rain offered me a chance to see where exactly I was heading, and I wasn’t exactly too sure about this destination. 

The motel was one of those cheap, one-story buildings that you only found in those intense crime shows and the occasional horror movie.  A giggling, drunk couple was collapsing into their room as I pulled in front of the white door labeled “12”. 

Just as I was parking, Laura Hale was closing her door behind her and calmly walking over to my passenger door, her phone pressed to her ear as she quietly spoke into the receiver. 

“—just call me back, Derek, okay?  Talk to you later,” Laura was saying as she slipped a seatbelt over her thin form.  “Hey,” she grinned over at me.  “Thanks again for the lift.”

“It’s no big deal,” I began modestly. 

“You’re wrong,” said Laura bluntly.  “I’d be shit out of luck if it wasn’t for you.”

I offered her once last smile before asking, “Where do you need to go?”

After she gave me some quick directions, we began to drive back into Beacon Hills, away from that motel that continued to shoot chills up and down my spine.  Rain began to pool all over my windshield, the wind picking up slightly as we continued to drive.  Glancing over at Laura, I broke the silence by asking, “So, what happened to your car?”

“Broke down on the side of the road,” she told me.  “I had to walk all the way back to my room and leave it there.  Hopefully I’ll be able to get a tow truck tomorrow morning to bring it to a mechanic—and don’t offer to call a trucking company or pay the mechanic or whatever good deed you want to fulfill,” she added as I opened my mouth. 

Flushing, I defensively replied, “I honestly wasn’t going to say any of that.  I was just going to see if you needed a ride to the library tomorrow.”

Laura continued to observe me for a moment before a smile returned to her face.  “First off, I don’t need a ride, but thank you.  Secondly, Jane, you must have been a saint in a past life.  You’re far too kind to everyone, including that old bat at the library—“

“Even _I_ can’t keep my patience around Mrs. Pollard,” I laughed along with her as I slowed at a stop sign.  “So you can’t give me that one.”

After a quick, companionable silence through a long, dark stretch of endless road, Laura probed, “So what are you?  A freshman at some local community college or something?”

“Still a senior,” I grimaced.  “For one last semester, at least; before I moved to Beacon Hills, I had to take a semester off last year for some…personal reasons, so I just have one more left before I can finally go to college.”

“Take a right here,” Laura ordered me before, as I switched my turning signal on, continuing with, “It’ll fly by for you, I’m sure.  Then you’ll have all-access to the promise land.”

As I pulled up to a separate building with a sign labeling it “Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital: Long-Term Care”, I overheard Laura abruptly suck in a deep breath.  Frowning as I pulled into a spot, I was just glancing over at her as she unbuckled her seatbelt.  “Just stay here, alright?  This will only take a minute.”

Laura disappeared into the hospital, and I ran my fingers through my dark hair, still slightly damp from the oncoming showers from above.  The thin hairs on the back of my neck began to stand on end, and I nervously glanced all around my car.  There were no other cars there but mine, although every single light was still lit within the hospital.  And yet, I continued to search the parking lot, sure that someone was, indeed, watching me.  My fingers fidgeted with each other, the occasional nail being clawed off in anxiousness. 

Laura’s face abruptly swam in the passenger window, making me involuntarily gasp in surprise as she knocked on the glass.  I hastily unlocked the door and she slid inside, shaking her damp hair all about as if some sort of wet dog.  “Alright, we’re all set,” Laura smiled at me, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes as before. 

Thinking of that sleazy motel, of the people that would be ranging all about the corridor outside her room, and the fact that she would be there all alone, I bit my bottom lip.  “Now, don’t bite my head off,” I began, not catching the ironic grin that flashed across her face, “but, are you sure you want to stay at that motel tonight?  If you want, you can crash at my house tonight.  It’s hardly luxurious or anything, but it’s better than nothing, right?”

I was positive that Laura would turn me down, laughing off my offer as another example of my “sainthood”.  But, she startled me when she replied, “You know, that might not be a bad idea.  Just for tonight though, right?”

“Absolutely,” I hastily said.  “I don’t want to smother you or anything—“

“Don’t worry, Jane, you’re definitely not,” smirked Laura.  “One night in a place where I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder actually sounds kind of nice.”

“Good,” I eventually smiled at Laura as I pulled out of the parking space and set off for home.  A sleepover with a girl I had known for a couple weeks?  I’d done worse. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Alright, so that’s the ending of this first chapter.  What do you all think?  I was really excited to include Laura, who I feel is left out in most stories.  Please leave me a review!  Thanks for reading!**

  


	2. Chapter Two

**First off, I want to thank all of my reviewers, you people are just lovely (:  Without you guys, I don’t know how I would keep my muse so strong.  And, without further ado, here is the next installment to “Home”:**

* * *

 

“You’re sure your parents won’t mind me staying here?” Laura asked me as we both stepped out of my car. 

The rain had finally subsided, leaving behind a few wisps of fog that stubbornly refused to dissipate.  I glanced up at the house looming before me that, for the past few months, I had been forced to call home: fairly average-sized with a giant, white farmer’s porch that wound itself around the entire first floor, encasing a sunny yellow front door.  Wind chimes hung from thick, black nails, tinkling lightly as the breeze fluttered through the porch.  It was rather country for the chic state of California, but, for my family, it fit perfectly. 

“Grandparents,” I corrected her now, glancing back at her.  “And it won’t really matter if they do anyways; if my timing’s right, they’ll have both taken their pills, so an earthquake can pass by here and they’ll still be snoring away.”

To make my case, I calmly unlocked the front door and turned on the entryway light, illuminating the two of us, as well as the wooden staircase leading up to my slumbering grandparents.  After locking the front door and shutting off any unneeded lights, I motioned for her to follow me up the stairs and into my bedroom, gently closing the door behind Laura.  “I’m sorry it’s a bit of a mess…” I told her, glancing around the room. 

The problem with working a full-time job was that I was never offered enough time to sit down and fully unpack the boxes that held my possessions that had been shipped all the way from Maine.  By the time I arrived home every night, I would just gaze stupidly at the walls lined with cardboard boxes labeled with “clothes” and “books”, and eventually collapse onto my bed, too exhausted and emotionally drained to deal with any of it.  For, as soon as I cut away the tape binding those boxes, my memories would come rushing out, infecting my insides until I have no other choice but to accept them. 

Besides the mess of boxes, my room was fairly organized; my pale yellow comforter was pressed neatly around my cream-colored pillows, several library books piled high on the nightstand beside my bed.  The door to my closet was just barely open, the sleeve of my black jacket peeking out at us.  My window was pushed open, a light breeze filtering into the lit room and brushing the white, gauzy curtains aside. 

“Did you all just move here?” asked Laura, taking a seat at my desk, pulling one of her legs up to her chest and resting her chin upon her knee. 

“I did,” I replied, sitting cross-legged on my bed.  “I used to live in Portland, Maine before…well, before my father died.”

“I’m sorry,” Laura said, her intense green gaze never leaving my face.  “I…understand what it’s like to lose a parent—nothing can ever fill that hole, no matter how hard you try.  You just have to learn to live with it.”

I smiled sadly at Laura, nodding; she hadn’t asked me how my father had passed, which I greatly appreciated, and I repaid the favor by not querying about her own past.  Instead, I got back on my feet and pulled some clothes from my dresser.  Turning back to Laura, I told her, “I’m afraid that the shorts might be a little short, but they’ll have to do,” as I passed them into her waiting hands.  “And my sleeping bag is up in my closet, so you can have my bed—“

“Oh no,” said Laura, already beginning to unabashedly strip away her t-shirt and jeans and pull on the clothes I had handed her.  “I’m not taking your bed.  Give me the sleeping bag, I’ll be more than fine.  And don’t argue,” she added as I opened my mouth to do just that, “or I’ll just tape you to the bed if I have to.”

Relenting, I grudgingly nodded and, after grabbing the sleeping bag for her, rushed to the bathroom to change.  While Laura may have been more than comfortable enough to change clothes in front of someone she had only known for a couple weeks, I was most definitely not.  Perhaps it was just me being prudish, but I couldn’t bring myself to just undress in front of someone I wasn’t completely at ease with.   Even then, I still wouldn’t feel relaxed.

After slipping into a pair of sleep shorts and an over-sized t-shirt, I stole back to my bedroom, where Laura was sitting out on my pale blue sleeping bag, curiously examining the books that I had checked out from the library about a week ago.  “You sure are a reader,” she stated as soon as I quietly closed the door behind me.

“Yeah, I guess it’s in my blood,” I shrugged as I settled onto my bed, plunging my ice-cold feet underneath my thick comforter.  “My mom used to run her own bookstore; she was just as obsessed as I was with books.  Novels, textbooks, encyclopedias, you name it.  She even named me after Jane Eyre.”

“It sounds like you two were close.”

“No, not really,” I replied uncomfortably.  “She passed away just after I was born.”   As I saw her startled gaze turning to me, I hastily added, “Enough about me.  What about your family?”

At first, Laura didn’t reply, making me fear that I had touched on some unforeseen nerve.  However, just as I was about to take back the inquiry, she responded, “It’s just Derek and me, my twin brother.  We haven’t seen each other in a few years though; he’s in Brooklyn, and I’ve been living up in Washington ever since we both graduated from Beacon Hills High.”

“It must be nice to have a brother though,” I offered.  “To have a companion throughout your childhood?  It was always just me and my dad growing up, and he was constantly at work, so I never really had anyone.  Well, besides my books of course, which makes me sound rather pathetic, I now realize.”

Laura chuckled as she replied, “Not exactly pathetic; more like lonely.”

After a few more minutes of chatting, I eventually hopped off my bed and turned the lights out, plunging the both of us in complete darkness.  Or, well, not _complete_ darkness—a daisy-shaped night light flickered in the obscurity, reflecting in my dark blue eyes as I curled up under my blankets.  I was a bit worried that Laura would make some sarcastic comment about it, but she stayed silent as she climbed into her sleeping bag and rested dark head against one of my pillows. 

Just as my eyelids were slowly beginning to droop and my mind was about to whisk away to dreamland, Laura’s voice floated into my room once more, asking, “Why have you been helping me so much, Jane?”

“W-what?” I sleepily said, still trying to shake the cobwebs out of my head. 

“Ever since I first came to the library, you’ve been nothing but accommodating to me, from bringing me coffee to letting me sleep in your own house.  You don’t do that with all of your customers, I know that for a fact.  Why’d you do it for me?”

I took a deep breath, not even sure of what an honest answer would sound like.  To be entirely truthful, I wasn’t even exactly sure why I had been so determined to offer Laura a companion, which she so clearly lacked.  Perhaps it was my own loneliness that drew me to her.  Finally I replied, “I’m not completely sure, Laura.  Maybe it’s just that, if our roles were switched, I would want someone to try and be there for me.  Everyone needs someone, right?”

When Laura didn’t say anything at first, I turned my head slightly to glance down at her.  To my surprise, the brunette was now fast asleep, her chest gently rising and falling as soft snores escaped her.  Unsure if she had even heard me, I turned my back to her, allowing slumber to consume me.   If I had remained awake, I would have caught her eyes instantly snapping open, flashing in the glow from my nightlight, and the smile that streaked across her sharp features. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Jane?  Wake up, darling.”

A warm hand gently shook my shoulder, forcing me out of my slumber to blearily blink all about my bedroom.  My grandmother, her long, silver hair pulled back into a loose bun, had perched herself on the side of my bed, her slender fingers softly rubbing circles on my back as she awoke me.  Her pale blue eyes lit up as soon as she found that I was, in fact, barely awake.  “Ah, there’s my girl,” beamed Nana as she tucked a piece of my unruly dark hair behind my year. 

“Morning, Nana,” I yawned loudly as I sat up in my bed.  “Is everything alright?”

“Oh yes, of course,” Nana smiled.  “Well, your grandfather is driving me crazy, but what else is new?  Anyways, you’re not working today, are you?”

“No, I have the day off.”

“Excellent,” Nana clapped her hands together.  “You can help me cook for your uncle then.  I’m sure he and that boy of his have absolutely nothing in their entire kitchen, so they’re probably eating out every night.  Honestly, what men would do without women, I’m not sure.  Is that alright with you, dear?”

“Of course, Nana,” I grinned up at her as I swung my legs over the edge of my bed and got to my feet.  Just as she made to leave, I caught the sight of my rolled-up sleeping bag, a set of pajamas messily folded upon it, and frowned as the memories of last night came rushing back to me.  “Nana?” I called after her as she was descending the staircase to head down to the kitchen. 

“Yes?”

“You didn’t happen to see my friend leave, did you?”

“What friend, Jane?”

“The one that stayed over here last night, Nana.  Laura Hale?  You…you didn’t see her this morning?” I asked, growing more and more confused.  Pappy and Nana always got up at the crack of dawn every morning; surely they would have caught Laura leaving, since she obviously wasn’t here anymore. 

“I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t,” Nana popped her head in the entryway, her brow furrowed slightly in her own puzzlement.  “I didn’t even know you were having a friend over.”

Biting my lip nervously, I replied, “I honestly didn’t either, Nana, but she needed a place to stay.  I’m sorry, I’ll tell you the next time I have someone sleeping here.”

Shooting me one last odd look, Nana disappeared from my sight.  Sighing to myself, I re-entered my room and glanced around, searching for some note that would explain Laura’s sudden disappearance.  I caught sight of a slightly crumpled piece of paper sticking out from my stack of books beside my bed; hurriedly snatching it, I read the note, relief slowly spreading through my body as I scanned each word:

 

_Jane,_

_Sorry I had to leave so early.  Something came up—I’ll explain later.  Thank you, again, for everything.  I really do appreciate it.  Call you later?_

_-Laura_

Well, I thought to myself, at least I knew that she was alright.  My curiosity peaked at what on Earth had come up, but I kept it deeply hidden.  Surely she would tell me later of what had happened; perhaps the next time I would be at the library?  Of course, my next shift wasn’t until tomorrow, after my very first day at Beacon Hills High. 

Thoughts shifting to my anxiety for having to start anew at a brand new school, Laura eventually drifted from my mind as I speedily showered and dressed in a pair of denim shorts and a violet t-shirt.  Of course, as I finally began cooking with my grandmother, I realized that it probably would have been best if I had just stayed dressed in my pajamas.  By the time we had finished layering vegetable lasagna, simmering homemade chicken noodle soup, forming mini turkey meatloaves, and cooling chocolate chip cookies, my t-shirt had been spattered with tomato sauce and smeared with cookie dough.  Suffice it to say, I was a bit of a mess.

“Why don’t you go change and take all of this stuff to your uncle’s?” Nana asked me as I finished washing the last of the dishes.  “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

Obediently I followed my grandmother’s “advice” and, after changing into a dark blue tank top, bundled up the immense amount of food to be placed into my car.  Just before I ran out, I kissed my grandfather on the cheek goodbye.  “You alright, kiddo?” Pappy asked me just as I moved to step outside. 

“Of course, Pappy,” I beamed at him. 

Later on, as I was driving to Uncle Jake’s house, I thought back to my grandfather’s strange question.  I knew that he and Nana were worrying about me, since all I seemed to do was hang around the house or work, but I was perfectly fine.  They expected me to have a huge group of friends already, just diving to the social aspect of high school without any hesitation.  Unfortunately, they’d soon find out that I just wasn’t built like that; even back in Maine, I had very few friends, preferring to just spend time by myself or, when he, on the rare occasion, wasn’t working, with my father. 

I had an inkling that Nana had ulterior motives to sending me off to Uncle Jake’s to drop everything off; she had this strange theory that I would befriend my cousin there, who was only a couple years younger than me.  Or perhaps she just wanted me to become closer with Uncle Jake, since he had been so dear to my parents.  After all, he was my mother’s brother, as well as my father’s best friend.  Pappy and Nana had thought of Uncle Jake as their second son, and had continued to, even past both of my parents’ deaths.  He and his son were always invited to holiday dinners and family gatherings; they were just as much as part of this family as I was. 

Pulling into Uncle Jake’s house, I was hardly surprised to see that his police car was nowhere in sight.  After all, the town’s sheriff should be out in the middle of the day, fighting the rare criminals that would venture into Beacon Hills.  All that was left was an old, topless, dark blue Jeep blasting some heavy metal music that I didn’t recognize, its owner soaking in the ridiculously loud music in the front seat. 

Taking in a rather nervous breath, I stepped out of my car and quietly approached the Jeep, my cousin completely oblivious to his visitor.  “Stiles?” I called out loudly from right beside him.  Of course he couldn’t hear me; I could barely catch my own thoughts.  Sighing, I shoved my hand in through the open window and sounded the car’s horn, its sharp note cutting through the music. 

Stiles nearly jumped out of his own skin; he gazed at me incredulously with wide, dark brown eyes as his fingers fumbled with his radio.  The music abruptly disappeared, although my ears were still ringing.  "You scared the living hell out of me,” Stiles accused as he turned his engine off. 

“Sorry,” I grinned apologetically.  “I tried yelling for you, but you were too busy blowing out your eardrums.  How can you listen to that racket?”

“Oh, sorry, Grandma,” smirked Stiles as he stepped out of his car.  “Would you rather I listen to Justin Bieber?”

“That’d probably be just as bad,” I grimaced.  “So,” I began to make my way over to the trunk of my car, “I come bringing gifts.”

The trunk door flipped open, revealing enough food to feed the U.S. army; Stiles instantly grinned at the sight of it all.  “You sure do know the way to my heart, Jane.”

“I do my best,” I shrugged modestly.  Just as we were beginning to transfer the food from my car to his kitchen, I couldn’t help but ask, “You ready for your first day as a sophomore tomorrow?  It’s a very important year, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked as he set down a particularly heavy pan of lasagna with a loud smack onto the counter.  “How’s that?”

“You’ll start getting those questions about what you’re going to do with your life.  About college and majors and your grades.  It all starts here, I’m afraid.  Good luck with that,” I smiled sympathetically up at him. 

Honestly, for someone who was two years younger than me, Stiles shouldn’t have seemed so _tall_.  Sure, I didn’t have the greatest height—but at least I was considered of average height.  For some reason, from my vantage point, Stiles seemed much taller than I remembered him being.  Of course, only a couple months ago I had seen him for the first time in five years—he probably would have grown a few inches since then. 

“Alright,” I said when we finally finished moving all of the food out of my car.  “You’ll give Uncle Jake a hug for me?”

“Oh yeah,” replied Stiles sarcastically, “I’ll just give him a nice, slobbery kiss and everything.”

Shooting him a look, I went to leave out the garage door when, on the tiny wooden table beside the door, I was startled to find a familiar photo of my parents gazing up at me.  My father, his thick, dark blonde hair an absolute mess and his nose crooked from the countless fights he had gotten into, grinned goofily into the camera, a thin arm wrapped around his beautiful bride.  The bride in question was, of course, my mother.  Her long, curly, dark brown hair desperately tried to escape the classic up-do spun at the back of her head, her cerulean blue eyes, a perfect mirror image of my own, slightly bloodshot from the tears that had managed to seep through her mascara and eyeliner.  

Some fools had occasionally assured me that I was the spinning image of my mother.  But, I could hardly see it; she was pretty, maybe even beautiful, while I was nothing but small, pale, and plain.  Sure, I had her eyes and unruly hair, but that was about it; everything else belonged to the rest of my family.  “What’s this doing out?” I asked Stiles, coming out of my slight stupor and glancing back at my cousin. 

At first, he furrowed his brow, puzzled at my question.  But, after a quick glance at the picture in hand, he casually replied, “My dad took it out a couple weeks ago to show you; he wasn’t sure if had any pictures of your parents, you know, still together.”

Glancing down at my beaming parents, I suddenly wished Uncle Jake was there, so I could show him my genuine gratitude for this gesture.  “Well,” I finally said, “tell him I said thank you.”  Tucking the photo into my purse, I waved goodbye to my cousin and stepped back outside, the warm air drying my moist eyes and clearing the lump in my throat. 

 

 

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**So, that is the end of this chapter.  I hope you all enjoyed the inclusion of Stiles in the end (:  Thank you all for reading, and please leave behind a review!**


	3. Chapter Three

  **I** **won’t say too much, just that you all should definitely enjoy this chapter ;)  Happy reading!**

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_Beep, beep, beep_

A frustrated groan escaped me as I groggily glanced over at my buzzing alarm clock.  After a couple moments of blankly gazing at the digital screen, I was able to finally read what was blinking at me: 7:59.  Somewhere in the back of mind, I vaguely heard my grandmother’s words from the night before— _“Remember, you need to be at the school by 8:15 to meet with Mr. Rome; don’t be late!”_

“Damn it!” I hissed as I struggled out of the knot of sheets tangled at my feet.  Through some harsh kicking and scrambling, I eventually fell face-first out of my bed, whacking the side of my head on the corner of my night stand. 

Clutching my throbbing temple, I hurriedly tore off my pajamas and pulled on a random t-shirt and jeans.  There was nowhere near enough time to busy myself with make-up, even though I probably wouldn’t have had the patience to suffer through smearing that stuff all over my face.  My hair, still damp from the shower the night before, was forced into a tight pony-tail at the back of my head; a couple tendrils stubbornly tickled my cheeks, but I ignored them, far too busy with rushing out of my bedroom, backpack slung over my shoulder and keys in hand. 

Fortunately, the house was empty, thanks to Nana’s nursing job at the hospital and Pappy’s duty to run his errands, so no one was privy to my late awakening.  After grabbing a handful of granola bars—my breakfast and lunch for the day—and shoving a pair of black flip flops onto my feet, I raced out to my car and jetted off to Beacon Hills High. 

Even as I began my commute, I anxiously glanced over at my clock, wishing that time would somehow find a way to stall itself.  As bad as it was to be late for my first day, it would be even worse due to the fact that the head of the Guidance office, Mr. Rome, would be absolutely furious with my tardiness.  During our first meeting at the deserted school about a month ago, he had made absolutely no effort to hide his obvious disdain for me.  I had never met the man before in my life, and yet he clearly despised me more than any other pupil in the entire student body.  I had no doubt that he would have no problem with making an example of me by handing me detention or some other humiliating punishment.

As I drove through the thick patches of gloomy fog and occasional patches of rain-filled puddles, exhaustion never struck me.  Despite my constant tossing and turning the night before, I was somehow jolted with energy, my fingers fidgeting anxiously as they clenched the steering wheel.  Adrenaline rushed through my veins throughout my trip to Beacon Hills High, even as I pulled my car into one of the few parking spots left. 

The clock built into my dashboard clicked to 8:30.  Fear prickling my skin, I hastily shrugged my backpack onto my shoulder and sprinted through the parking lot, which was completely devoid of anyone.  Clearly the first bell had ringed in my absence, which just made my late arrival even that much more humiliating. 

I slipped in through the front doors of the school, glancing down the gray locker-lined corridor in hope of finding any signs to the guidance office.  Of course, just my luck, there was absolutely none.  Instead, I was forced to blindly navigate the hallways, wasting even more time, until I came across a white door labeled “Guidance”. 

As I burst into the front desk area, I was only able to briefly take in the startled secretary whose thin blonde hair was straightened until it was practically lifeless, the bulletin board that was piled on with countless flyers and announcements, and a man in his early forties just about to leave his office.  “You should like it here very much, Allison,” he was saying when he glanced over at the door that I had just dashed through. 

It was far too easy for me to recognize Mr. Rome’s protruding beer gut, round, balding head, and beady black eyes.  Obviously, it didn’t take him too long to remember me as well—his bushy eyebrows rose at the sight of my abrupt entrance, a snide comment soon following.  “Ah, Miss Brown,” he said nastily.  “I see you have decided to grace us with your presence.”

Flushing, I rushed to stammer out an apology, but he easily ran over my efforts.  “You should know that, here at Beacon Hills, we highly frown upon those who feel they are too good to actually show up on time.”

A mumble sounding faintly of my now lame-sounding excuse managed to permeate the air, but Mr. Rome barely took heed of it.  “I’m afraid that you missed my welcoming speech, but perhaps Miss Argent here will be so kind as to inform you later on when I’m not wasting my time with you?”

At first I was confused about whom he was speaking of, when he moved to the side and revealed a tall, willowy girl that had been hidden behind his plump belly.  She was blushing slightly at my expense, but she had no choice but to nod as Mr. Rome focused his watery eyes upon her. 

“Alright,” said Mr. Rome, clapping his pudgy hands together and seeming to regain his cool as his secretary continued to gaze at him in surprise.  “Let’s get you both to your classes, yes?  Come along now.”

As we both rushed after the surprisingly quick man, I was able to sneak a glance over at my companion.  As I said before, she was rather tall, standing at least a few inches above the top of my head, and pretty.  Dark, loose curls brushed her slender shoulders, which were clad in a chic, light brown jacket that looked more expensive than my entire outfit.  Her skin was as pale as fresh snow; her pale pink painted lips flashed a small smile at me as she caught me studying her as we followed Mr. Rome. I hurriedly looked away, forgetting to return the smile and only feeling that much more simple and plain compared to her. 

“And here is Jane’s class,” Mr. Rome practically spat out as we halted in front of an ordinary, dark blue metal door.  “Physics, I believe.  You have your schedule, right?”

As soon as I began to move my head in a nod, Mr. Rome practically jogged down the corridor away from me, the startled girl in tow, leaving me absolutely alone.  I glanced down at my bare toes, trembling as the cool air conditioning brushed against the sensitive flesh of my neck. 

Well, I thought to myself as I took in a deep, calming breath, I might as well get the misery off with.  Without another thought of it, I grasped the steel door knob and stepped into the unfamiliar classroom. 

 

 

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“So, Jane, how was your first day?”

As soon as I stepped into the library, this was the first of many questions that I was bombarded with by Mrs. Pollard.  It was only the beginning of a complete interrogation on what had happened at school, who I had met, which classes I had, and, most importantly, if anything relatively juicy had occurred. 

I probably could have had a better first day.  Let’s just say that everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong, starting with my very first class.  As soon as I had managed to flag down Mrs. Harper, my Physics teacher, she briefly introduced me to the class and eventually set me on my merry way to my seat.  Only, as I was walking, someone shoved their foot out into the pathway and sent me toppling down to the ground.  Snickers burst out in the classroom as I hurried the rest of the way to my seat, hiding my flushed face from any prying eyes. 

Only to further my growing popularity at Beacon Hills High, when Mrs. Harper finally asked everyone for the differences between Classical Physics and Modern Physics, I had been foolish enough to be the only one to raise her hand, offering the pleasantly surprised teacher a reasonable answer.  It was only when I couldn’t count on both of my hands the amount of dirty looks lobbed in my direction that I realized, oh yes, I had broken one of many social faux pas—this one being never show up your classmates on the very first day of class. 

My next class hardly improved; a blonde girl clad in expensive clothing and donning far too much make-up had been so kind as to inform that, in my rush to be relatively late for school, the pale green t-shirt I had thrown on that morning was, in fact, inside out.  So, with my cheeks turning into a rather hideous shade of puce, I had hurried to the bathroom to return my t-shirt to normal.  It was then that I noticed my horrific appearance: my thick hair was in desperate need of a brush, drops of sweat were beginning to bud on my temples, and my cheeks were exceptionally pale and clammy.  But, as I already had no time to hurry back to my class to retrieve my backpack, I had no choice but to continue on through the day looking as ghastly as I did. 

By the time lunch had rolled around, it was already a forgone conclusion that I would, indeed, be sitting alone.  Fortunately, I had arrived fairly early so I was given a chance to at least secure my lone table.  As students began piling into the cafeteria, I ravenously bit into my granola bar; I was never given a chance to even eat any of the meager food that I had brought with me that morning, so I was practically starving. 

Just as I was unwrapping my second one, someone abruptly sat at my table.  I glanced up in surprise to see the girl from that morning—what was her name?  Alexandra or something—casually reaching into her paper lunch bag and pulling out a sandwich and apple.  It was only when I was able to regain my voice that I finally asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’m eating lunch,” replied the girl simply, taking a bite of her sandwich and calmly looking back at me with amber eyes. 

“No, I mean, why are you sitting here?  With me?”

The girl, playing her part well, allowed confusion to flit across her fair features.  Eventually she said, “Well, I figured you seemed nice enough this morning, and you didn’t exactly have anyone to sit with anyways, right?”

Just as I opened my mouth to reply that I may have, in fact, been waiting for someone, I noticed a petite red-headed girl sitting down with a group of her preppy-looking friends, sending rather malicious glances in my direction.  Flushing slightly, I told my companion now, “Well, I don’t think your friends are too happy about that.”

She nonchalantly glanced over her shoulder to catch the red-head’s glare and shrugged her shoulders as she turned back to me.  “Lydia will get over it,” she said.  “I want to sit with you, if you are okay with it, of course.”

At first, I didn’t reply.  Yes, she seemed nice enough, but I had honestly already started getting used to becoming a bit of a social pariah, both here and at my previous school.  And yet here was this random girl, figuratively extending friendship in the palm of her hand.  It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her—it was just a bit overwhelming.  Finally making up my mind, I told her, “Its fine with me.”

“Good,” smiled the girl.  “I’m Allison, by the way.  Allison Argent.”

I had shyly returned her smile and replied, “Jane Brown.  It’s nice to meet you.”

And thus the typical chatter between two girls commenced; in such a short period of lunch, I discovered various facts about Allison Argent, from how she was allergic to shellfish to how she had a secret talent for archery.  I learned that Allison had been moving from state to state throughout her entire life, since her dad worked for the government.  She also, despite being a sophomore, was only about a year younger than myself, due to all their moving around.  By the time the bell rang, we had already exchanged numbers, agreeing to meet up sometime. 

Unfortunately, my budding friendship with Allison was the only decent part of my entire day; the rest of it was filled with snide comments about my frizzy hair and the occasional bumping in the bustling hallways.  Finally, after my Calculus class, I was free to leave and head to the library, the only promising event I had all day. 

And so this was where I was now—huddled behind the information desk, my head resting on my crossed arms and desperately trying to forget the miserable first day I had at Beacon Hills.  Not even the intoxicating scent of leather-bound books and aging paper could brighten my spirits—at that point, all I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and fall fast asleep. 

“Jane, can you be a doll and put these books away?  My damn arthritis is acting up again.”

Blearily blinking up at Mrs. Pollard, who was massaging the kinks in her gnarled fingers, I offered a weak smile and said, “Sure.  I’ll get right on it.”

“Oh, and, Jane?  Here’s a brush I found in my purse—no offense, dear, but you look like you could use one.”

Doing my best to hide my embarrassment, I snatched the brush from her shaking hands and hurried to the private bathroom behind the desk.  After wrenching my hair free of its pony-tail, I worked the small, plastic brush through the many gnarls and knots in my hair until it looked somewhat presentable. 

While so many women ranted and raved about how much they wished they had thick hair, I would give nothing more than to offer it to them, free of charge.  With thick hair comes the constant need to brush it out, to make sure that you have at least twenty minutes to comb it until it’s eventually smooth.  Unfortunately for me, that seemed to be impossible—it was just curly now, tickling my cheeks as I splashed some cool water onto my face, hoping to at least wake myself up somehow. 

With one last sigh at my reflection in the dingy mirror, I left the bathroom, returned the brush to Mrs. Pollard, and went off to fetch the book carrier.  After piling stacks and stacks of books onto the metal shelves, I wheeled it away to the various divisions of the library, beginning with my personal favorite, nonfiction. 

As I glanced at the peeling letters upon the creased bindings of the previously read books, I vaguely heard Mrs. Pollard directing someone to the nonfiction section.  Softly humming to myself, I continued to work, the sensation of fading ink and cracking book spines under my slender fingers driving away my stress and tension.  As I reached my last stack of books that were bound to the opposite side of the shelf, I heaved the heavy pile into my arms and began to walk over.  It was only as I stepped out from the bookshelves and into the open that stumbled into a browsing visitor. 

“Oh!” I gasped as I fell backwards, the books slipping from my grip and landing with a soft thump on the faded carpet. 

I expected to join them shortly, but a strong, calloused abruptly grasped my fore arm, easily steadying me.  As I glanced up from the floor that had been so willing to catch me, my cerulean blue eyes followed the tanned hand that was continuing to hold onto me up to a muscular arm that lead to broad shoulders clad in a dark gray t-shirt.  Past the shoulders I discovered a thick, powerful neck that cradled a rather handsome face.  Rich, dark hair, nearly black in the dull light of the library, led to a distinctive widow’s peak upon his forehead; a slightly hooked nose sloped down to lips that seemed to have never experienced a simple smile.  Heavy eyebrows slanted towards a thick, dark fringe of eyelashes that encased an entrancing, achingly familiar set of forest green eyes.  Despite how near he was to my face, I couldn’t decipher a single emotion in those captivating eyes—each one was tightly wrapped, never to be revealed to those he did not trust. 

“Are you alright?”

His deep voice snapped me out of my trance, forcing me to blink up at him in surprise and hastily nod.  “I’m fine,” I told him as I tried to tug my arm out of his tight grip.  As soon as he caught my questioning glances, he instantly released me, as if my skin had abruptly caught fire.  “I’m sorry about, you know, bumping into you,” I shyly said as I kneeled down to pick up the books that had tumbled from my arms.  Before I could even blink, the stranger was kneeling down, several books already plucked from the ground and gently placed in my grip.  

As soon as they were all safe in my arms, I hurriedly straightened up, blowing a stray piece of curly hair out of my face as the man—despite how he held himself, he had to be only a couple years older than me—returned to his full height as well, which easily beat my own.  “Well, thanks,” I managed to smile up at him before rushing back to my book carrier.  I honestly didn’t care that I still had to put those books away—there was something so unnerving about his presence that brought about a strange desire in me to put as much distance as possible between us. 

“Wait,” said the man suddenly as I began to hasten the book carrier down the lines of shelves.  Too involved in my own racing thoughts, I barely heard him.  It was only when he abruptly blocked my pathway, his strong hands clasping my carrier and forcing me to stop.  I nervously glanced up into his eyes, taking in the firm line his mouth had become.  “Are you Jane?  Jane Brown?”

I instantly froze; how on earth did he know my name?  Pushing away my anxiety, I hastily replied, “Yes, I am.  Have we, erm, met before?”  A silly question, of course, but my mind seemed to have gone ridiculously blank. 

“No, but you’ve met my sister,” replied the man, his stoic face remaining as emotionless as before.  “Laura Hale?”

“Laura?” I repeated, now growing rather confused.  “Yes, of course I’ve met her.  But why—“ I studied his dark green eyes once more, their intense gaze shocking a familiarity within me.  “You’re her brother, aren’t you?  Derek, right?”  At his seemingly reluctant nod, I continued, “She mentioned you before to me.  W-why are you asking about her?  Is everything alright?”

At first Derek didn’t reply, causing only the worst thoughts to run through my mind.  But, as if he seemed to read what they possibly could be, he swiftly replied, “I just need to find out what she was doing here.  She said she was doing some kind of research here and that you had helped her out.”

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you much,” I told him as I tried to recount our past conversations with each other.  “She’s rather secretive, your sister.  But I can show you the public records she was searching through, if that would help.”

At his curt nod, I continued to stare rather blankly up at him.  It was only when one of his eyebrows rose that I was hurtled back to earth and forced to glance back at the information desk.  Mrs. Pollard was continuing to work away, her sharp eyes catching anything that could possibly be out of place.  Holding in a sigh, I met Derek’s eyes once more and told him, “Just…wait here, okay?  I’ll be right back.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, I hurried back to my workspace, trying to inconspicuously grab ahold of the key to the public records that was hanging near my seat.  Unfortunately, just as I wrapped my fingers around the cord, Mrs. Pollard caught sight of me and instantly frowned.  “What do you think you’re doing?  You’re not…you’re not actually taking that _boy_ into the public archives, are you?”

Holding in a desire to look over my shoulder at the “boy” she spoke of, I firmly told Mrs. Pollard, “They’re for public eyes; he has every right to go in there.  And I’m sure he won’t be in there that long.”

Mrs. Pollard pursed her lips in annoyance before replying, “Just because you think he’s cute doesn’t mean—“

“That has nothing do with it, I assure you!” I snapped hotly, my cheeks coloring considerably as I prayed that Derek had horrible hearing.  Mrs. Pollard was startled at my outburst, but I barely took notice of it.  Just as I opened my mouth to explain that it was only because he, for some reason, needed information on Laura, I paused; he probably wouldn’t want to broadcast that information, would he?  So, heaving in a sigh, I just walked away from our argument, a throbbing beginning to form in my right temple.

Just as I turned a corner to return to my book carrier, I stumbled into Derek once more.  I felt my face flush, as it did before, but he barely took notice of me.  Finally I managed to say, “Just follow me,” before we set off to the back room. 

As we were walking, the silence only bugged me even more.  I could only last so long before my questions began bursting out of me.  “How did you find me?” I abruptly asked him, forcing his intense stare to shift towards me.  When he first didn’t respond, I bit my bottom lip, anxious that I wouldn’t be able to get anything out of him. 

“I found your number in Laura’s pocket,” he replied quietly.  “When we talked before, she had mentioned you, saying that you had helped her out.  I figured you’d be the best person to go to for information on what she was doing here.”

“Why can’t you just ask her?” I continued to probe.  As he, once again, kept his mouth shut, I couldn’t help but add, “Your sister was my friend.  I think I have a right to know—“

“A right to know our business?” he finished, annoyance creeping into his voice. 

“I just want to make sure she’s alright,” I shot back at him, my confidence surprising even myself.  “Is that too much to ask—“

We suddenly came to the end of the hallway, only a black, inconspicuous door blocking us from the public archives.  But, I continued to stand firm, holding the key tightly in my clenched hand as I continued to gaze up at Derek.  He held no fear of our staring contest, but I could see the frustration slowly eating away at his resolve.  Finally he told me gruffly, “She’s dead.”

His words crashed into me, nearly sending me to the ground once again.  How could this be possible?  Laura couldn’t be dead!  I had only seen her a couple days ago, and she was perfectly fine.  There was no reason to believe that this was even possible.  How…how…I turned my gaze back up to Derek, whose hardened expression had softened ever so slightly.  _“It’s just Derek and me, my younger brother brother.  We haven’t seen each other in a few years though,” Laura had said that night…_

My grief seemed insincere in front of Derek; Laura had probably been the last of their family, and she was gone now.   No wonder he had hardly been willing to tell me what had happened to her.  Numbly, I pressed the key into his large hands, my fingers hesitating ever so slightly before pulling away from him.  “Go ahead,” I told him softly.  “Take as much time as you need.”

Derek’s brow furrowed down at me, but he eventually nodded before disappearing into the backroom.  At first, I was too rooted to my spot to move; Laura was gone.  The thought of it just unnerved me even more.  I closed my eyes, desperately trying to swallow the lump forming in my throat. 

Eventually, I returned to the Information Desk, my breath still shuddering, completely ignorant of the forest green eyes that briefly followed my every move. 

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**And that is the chapter.  What’d you all think of Derek?  I loved writing him, haha.  He’s just such a fascinating character.  Thanks for reading, and please don’t forget to leave a review!**

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

**I’m trying to keep up with my updates on this story, mostly thanks to my buzzing muse and the constant supply of ideas from each week’s new Teen Wolf episode.  I’m not sure if all of you are up to date with the episodes, so I won’t go into detail about what has happened, but, for those of you who have, it’s been pretty amazing, hasn’t it?  I just can’t wait for the next two episodes to see what happens.  Well, without further ado, here is the next chapter of “Home”:**

 

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The rest of that miserable day seemed to just drag on, the minutes plugging away as I continued with my shift at the Information Desk in a heavy daze.  As the occasional browser approached me searching for answers or directions, I was forced to offer them blank responses, unwilling to even offer them a smile as they went on their way.  Not even Mrs. Pollard’s sporadic glares could even puncture my stupor, although she would have been positively thrilled if the circumstances had changed.  After a chance glance out of the dim windows (they were in desperate need of a cleaning), I caught burnt oranges and soft yellows shifting to a rich dark blue, signaling that my day was finally over.

After returning the book carrier to its proper place, I was just about to slide my schoolwork back into my bag and head out for the night when Mrs. Pollard smug voice floated over to me.  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked. 

I blinked in surprise up at her smirking face and replied, “Going home….is that a problem?”

“Actually, it is,” said Mrs. Pollard.  “You can’t leave here until the library is completely empty and, unless I’m wrong, I believe that boy has yet to leave.  So, you’ll be staying here until that backroom is empty and your boyfriend is nowhere to be found.”

Just as I opened my mouth to protest her label of Derek, I caught sight of the triumphant glint in her sharp eyes and controlled myself.  The argument wouldn’t be worth the headache afterwards, so I held my tongue and silently nodded, dropping my bag back onto the carpeted floor.  Shooting one last smirk down at me, Mrs. Pollard vanished through the front doors, leaving me with nothing but ringing silence and the growing darkness both inside and out. 

Collapsing into my chair, I ran a shaking hand over my face and closing my eyes, trying to swallow the rising lump in the base of my throat.  Laura, the only true friend I had found since moving to Beacon Hills, was dead, ripped from this world and forced to roam the afterlife.  How could this have happened?  Laura wasn’t stupid—she knew how to keep herself safe, that much has been obvious to me as our friendship had strengthened.  But, of course, not even the smartest people in the world could avoid the dangers that came bundled with life.  Something had overtaken Laura, that was all I’d been told; who knew if I’d be able to get any answers from Derek, who seemed as close-lipped as his sister. 

Sighing to myself, I glanced over at the backroom, florescent light creeping out from underneath the door.  Somehow I’d get my questions answered, and who knew when I’d be able to see Derek again.  Swallowing my nerves, my feet carried me to the public archives, fingers fidgeting with a stray thread poking out from my t-shirt.  I peeked through the thick sheet of glass lodged into the door, but there was no sign of Derek. 

Wrapping my hand around the doorknob, I pushed it open, patiently listening for any movement inside the lit room.  Hearing nothing but silence, I quietly stepped into the room, glancing at the wooden tables and down the rows of filing cabinets, only to find that I was the only one there.  A frown gracing my plain features, my confusion was stalled at the sight of the piles of opened files and stacks of papers that dominated the farthest table from the door.  Curiosity getting the better of me, I approached the table, glancing around to make sure that I was, in fact, alone, before going to read the papers spread out before me. 

The packet of papers closest to me was a newspaper clipping surrounding a fire at a local home in Beacon Hills that killed eight people and left one person nearly burnt to death.  According to the article, the family’s names hadn’t yet been released to the public, out of respect for the dead and their grieving loved ones.  Various excerpts were highlighted, small, cramped handwriting following the yellow markings with notes and questions that made no sense to me.  Frowning at a picture of the charred remnants of the house, I set the packet aside and went to pick up another file that was closest to me, taking a quick peek up to make sure that no one had entered the room.  It was only then that I caught sight of the tall, imposing form of Derek Hale. 

Nearly jumping out of my skin, I felt my face flush as his narrowed eyes never left mine.  Heart racing a mile a minute, I tried to stammer out something, anything that would give me a reason to be peeping through his work.  Unfortunately, my half-hearted excuses only came out as a jumbled mess, leaving us in tense silence.  Taking a determinably calming breath, I said, “I thought you had left.”

His voice was low and unreadable as he replied, “You didn’t see me leave, did you?”

“I thought I’d missed you,” I suggested. 

Refusing to respond, Derek approached the table with his long strides and tugged the file out of my trembling hands.  “You shouldn’t be sticking your nose in everybody’s business,” he said quietly, shuffling his work into an untidy pile before turning back to gaze down at me.  “It’s not exactly polite.”

Pursing my lips as this man—who was probably only a few years older than myself, mind you—actually chastised me, I couldn’t help but stubbornly reply, “I wasn’t sticking my nose in your business, I assure you!”

“Then what were you doing?”

“Trying to find out if any of this,” I gestured to the files and papers, “had anything to do with what happened to Laura.  Obviously you aren’t going to tell me anything, so I figured I’d better find some information on my own.”

With a roll of his eyes, Derek turned his back to me, leaving the room with an air of having finished this pointless discussion.  But, my frustration forced me to storm after him, hurriedly turning off the light before hastily following his much longer strides.  “You know, Laura was my friend,” I tried to tell him as he did his best to ignore my very presence.  “I have the right to at least find out what happened to her.”

Derek rounded on me, his dark green eyes flaming with annoyance; I was forced to halt my quick pace, nearly stumbling into his chest in the process.  As I righted myself, he snapped, “I don’t care if you, for whatever reason, believe that Laura was your friend.  What we’re involved in has absolutely nothing to do with you, and nothing gives you any justification to get every detail about our lives just handed to you.  Now, do us both a favor and leave me alone.”

Biting my bottom lip, I felt heat rushing to my face as he continued on his way.  Letting out a frustrated sigh, I hurriedly threw my bag onto my back and found Derek, who was stepping into a sleek, black sports car.  Rushing up to the car as the ignition revved, I told him through the open window, “You should know, Laura wasn’t just my friend.  She was my _only_ friend here in this town, and the one person I actually felt comfortable enough to talk to.  With her gone, I have no one here; and I know that you can understand that feeling, because she trusted me enough to tell me about how you both were the last two left in your family.”  Taking a shuddering breath, I finished, “I just want to know what happened to her, Derek.  That’s all.”

At first, Derek didn’t reply, staring at the stretch of road in front of him with narrowed eyes.  As the silence continued, I was sure that he was going to just roll his eyes and tell me to bug off once more.  But, just as I was about to sigh and admit defeat, he turned his intense gaze to me and asked, “Are you working tomorrow?”

After a brief moment of startled silence, as I had hardly expected this question as a reply, I said, “Yes, at three.”

Derek nodded, turning away from me and saying, “Alright.  Be here at two.” 

And, without another word, he shot one more unreadable glance at my surprised face before I subconsciously stepped away for the car, just in time as he instantly sped away down the road, leaving me standing in the middle of the road, speechless. 

 

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**Alright, I know this is super short, but I promise you I’ll get the next update up as soon as possible.  I’m just about to head out for the weekend, but I’ll have it up next week hopefully.  Thank you all for reading, and please don’t forget**


	5. Chapter Five

**So, I hope this chapter makes up for the last, rather short one.  Please enjoy, and don’t forget to review!  As always, I own nothing except for Jane and her family (besides Stiles and the Sheriff, of course).**

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As it turned out, my second day at school was hardly an improvement.  The only bright spot was that, once again, I hadn’t been forced to eat alone at lunchtime, having been joined by Allison like the day before.  As before, we ignored the occasional glare from her red-headed friend, who obviously frowned upon her new friend’s interest in me.  Nonetheless, Allison promised to land me an invite at some party that was planned at the end of that week, even though I assured her that I wasn’t really a party person.  Unfortunately, it seemed Allison was as stubborn as a mule, and refused to take my subdued protests, promising me that I’d “have the time of my life”. 

Throughout my classes that day, my mind continued to wander to my eventual meeting that afternoon with Derek.  The man just absolutely confounded me.  Normally I didn’t get frustrated so easily with people, especially those that I had only just met.  But, with Derek, he seemed to throw my emotions all out of whack.  My infuriation with him the night before had just enveloped my senses, forcing me to eventually snap.  Later on that night, as I lay in bed with my blankets pulled all the way up to my chin, I thought back to how, with one look, Derek Hale had completely turned me inside out.  And now I was forced to meet with him today. 

When I eventually pulled into the library parking lot, I couldn’t help but hope that Derek wasn’t going to show up.  Although I was desperate for information on Laura, something about having to having to meet that piercing green gaze of his just unnerved me to no end.  But, as my car was safely tucked away into my usual parking spot, I caught sight of that familiar black car, the pristine paint job gleaming in the bright sunshine.  And, of course, there was its driver, scowling in my direction as I stepped out of my own car. 

“You’re late,” said Derek as I neared him, eyes still narrowed suspiciously up at me. 

Frowning, I glanced down at my watch, which read only three minutes past two.  Wanting nothing more than to avoid an argument, I conservatively chewed on the inside of my mouth and, glancing away, replied quietly, “Sorry.”

When my eyes returned to his, I was startled to find Derek’s expression softening ever so slightly.  But, when he caught me staring, it instantly disappeared, returning to a harsh gaze.  “Get in,” he ordered. 

Swallowing my budding annoyance with being directed as if I was some sort of servant, I obediently moved to the passenger side, my fingers hesitating slightly at the smooth touch of the door handle.  Laura’s smile swept through my vision and, taking a giant leap, opened the door and slid onto the leather seat. 

Just as my seatbelt was clicked into place, Derek slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, hurtling me back into the seat.  The library instantly disappeared, replaced with the thick, lush forestry of Beacon Hills.  Cars honked in annoyance as Derek lazily swept around them, barely glancing in any of his mirrors as he effortlessly maneuvered his car.  His expression was still the same—a cold stare, his mouth set in a thin line. 

My face, on the other hand, was filled with nothing but horror.  My fingernails dug into the smooth leather underneath me, blue eyes wide as each obstacle thrown in our pathway was only inches away from colliding with the front bumper.  I continuously peeked over at Derek, hoping that he’d take the hint from me and slow down, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t really care.  Finally, when I had decided that I was probably about to die in this psychotic man’s car, I managed to open my mouth to softly say, “Could you please…um, you know, slow down?”

Derek glanced over at me, cocking an eyebrow as if completely flabbergasted by this question.  “Why?” he asked blankly.

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, the speed limit on this road is 40 miles per hour, and you’re currently going—“I took a hasty glimpse of his speedometer just to keep my facts straight—“100.”

At first, Derek stayed silent.  But, I could barely control my eyes as they gazed up at his set jaw and unreadable stare.  Eventually he quietly replied, “There’s nothing wrong with the way I drive.”

Just as I returned from firing an incredulous look at him, a car abruptly merged in front of us, its bumper only inches from our front end.  Unwilling to watch this eventual catastrophe any longer, my hands latched onto my face, fingers squeezed shut and not allowing any light to filter through.  Even as Derek easily swerved around the honking car, I refused to relent, darkness continuing to fill my vision. 

The car seemed to slow ever so slightly, and I consented to peeking to my left at Derek, only to find him frowning down at me.  His searching green eyes met my wary gaze and, with a quiet sigh, the car brought itself to a reasonable speed of 60 mph.  Heat warming my cheeks, my hands lamely fell to my sides, my gaze hastily following them.  “Thank you,” I told him, my voice nearly as low as a whisper. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Derek shaking his head, returning to watching the road.  He hesitated before mumbling, “You’re welcome.” 

For the next couple of moments, we drove in silence, the gloomy, gray skies up ahead casting a dull glow upon the shiny pavement rolling underneath the spinning tires of Derek’s car.  Due to my inexperience with driving throughout Beacon Hills, I hadn’t a clue on where we were heading to.  Glancing over at the driver, I caught him drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, obviously impatient with the protocol of actually driving the speed limit.  “Where are we going?” I asked him curiously. 

“You wanted to talk about Laura, right?”

“Yes,” I replied uncertainly.

“Well, we’re going somewhere to talk.”  With that, Derek plunged himself back into silence. 

Frowning up at his blatant unwillingness to cooperate with me whatsoever, I took to gazing out the window, leaning my forehead against the cool glass and closing my eyes for just a brief moment.  But, when I reopened them, unbeknownst to me, ten minutes later, I found that we were now parked in front of a small, brick building with a neon sign that spelled out in gleaming letters, Eve’s Diner.  Various other neon signs surrounded it, including ones that read “24 Hours” and “Breakfast Served All Day” and the last one, which was nearly as vast as the front sign, read “OPEN”. 

A surprised grin spread across my face.  I had been so sure that 24-hour diners were only an east coast specialty, and would never be able to find one in California; back home, there’d been this one diner called Rose’s that had some of the best food in the entire city of Portland.  My dad and I had gone there nearly every Friday night for dinner after he was able to escape from his cases at the police station—normally this was around eleven at night, but it didn’t matter to us.  Just the scent of greasy, fatty bacon and freshly brewed coffee was enough to make all that waiting worth it. 

Derek caught my lopsided grin, but said nothing as he turned off the ignition and stepped out of his car.  Following his lead, I stayed in step with him as we eventually were ushered into a dull red, patched booth with a silver table separating the two of us.  It seemed that the lunch rush was just about clearing up as there were only a few patrons left, nibbling their toast and reading the local newspaper.  One lone waitress was talking to the cook in the back, her raspy laugh floating throughout the entire diner. 

As I casually glanced down at the menu and decided that I wasn’t that hungry, I noticed Derek’s eyes, instead of perusing his own menu, were watching my face curiously.  “What?” I couldn’t help but ask, puzzled.  When he refused to reply, I couldn’t help but add, frustration growing, “You know, for someone who brought me here to talk, you aren’t doing a lot of talking.”

He glared at me, opening his mouth to retort just as the waitress roamed over to her table.  Her frizzy red hair was pulled into a tight bun, gum smacking in her mouth and completely ignorant of Derek’s annoyed expression as she said, “Hey dolls.  Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just tea, please,” I smiled politely up at her. 

She nodded and glanced over at Derek, who curtly said, “Coffee.” 

Just as she went to return to the counter, she squinted down at Derek, mouth screwed up in concentration.  “You look familiar.  Have I seen you around here before?”

“No,” replied Derek through gritted teeth, annoyance transforming into complete aggravation. 

Rolling her eyes at his attitude, she disappeared, leaving the two of us alone.  I considered chastising him for his rudeness but, as I was growing desperate for some information on Laura, I kept it to myself.  Instead, I said, “So, what happened to Laura?”

“Car accident,” replied Derek abruptly, startling me into silence.  I had been so sure that he would take forever to respond, but he continued to gaze directly into my eyes.  “She was in a head-on collision the night before I met you.  Her car was totaled; she died instantly.”

A frown spread across my face as I took in his explanation.  Even as the waitress settled my mug of steaming tea in front of me, I said nothing, instead just staring down at the table top and, after a long sip of the hot, soothing tea, running over the details he had relayed to me through my mind.  Something just didn’t fit; Laura had said her car was broken down the night I had picked her up, and she hadn’t even found a mechanic yet for the morning.  There was no way it would be fixed that quick, not even with a stellar mechanic. 

“You’re lying,” I told him as he was taking a gulp of his coffee—no sugar, no cream.  Big surprise. 

“What—“

“The night before she died, I had to pick her up from her motel because her car had broken down.  It would have taken at least an entire day to fix whatever the problem was with her car.  There’s no way she’d be on the road by then to be in a car accident.”

Derek froze, his intense eyes shifting into a glare as he stared at me.  After a moment, the edges of his mouth twitched down into a frown as he said, “Laura wasn’t staying in a motel.”

“Yes, she—“

“I found her things at our old house,” he shook his head.  “She’d been staying there ever since she came back to Beacon Hills.”

“Then what she was doing in a motel room?” I asked.  “A terrible one, at that.  I even had her stay at my house that night because I didn’t like her being there on her own.”

Derek looked down into the smooth surface of his black coffee, deep in thought.  Surely none of this made sense to him either?  My mind was buzzing with confusion; all of my questions lead back to the central problem: what had happened to Laura?  Something was out of place, and I needed some answers. 

As Derek remained silent, I hesitantly reached my shaking hand over to his, which was gripping his steaming coffee mug.  My fingers brushed his knuckles, startling him from his thought and forcing his unreadable, intense gaze to turn up to mine.  “Derek,” I said quietly, “what happened to Laura?  I want the truth.”

My eyes never left his, pleading for some sort of explanation about what was going on.  His lips parted slightly, as if about to grant my wish.  Suddenly, our waitress appeared by our table, her eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of my hand on his.  Both of his hands instantly retreated under the edge of the table, his eyes refusing to meet mine as they, instead, turned to the window beside our table.  I reluctantly brought my hand back to my lap, smiling reluctantly up at our waitress as she filled Derek’s coffee cup and eventually disappeared once more. 

“I have to get you back,” said Derek abruptly, turning back to me and digging into his back pocket for his wallet.  After throwing a couple of bills onto the table, he slid out of the booth, not even bothering to wait for me to follow him. 

“Derek,” I tried to race after him, emerging into cool air, the clouds threatening to unleash themselves onto the ground under my feet.  “Derek, wait!”

He ignored me, slamming his car door behind him and not even glancing over at me as I slid into the passenger side.  The car was shoved into reverse and Derek raced out of the parking lot, barely even looking as he pulled onto the main road and sped back to the library.  I blatantly stared up at him, waiting for some sort of reasoning as to why he was acting so strangely.  When I received none, I finally tried, “Will you please just tell me—“

“No, I won’t,” Derek snapped, glowering at a car that dared to turn itself onto his path.  He passed him, accelerating in the process.  “I shouldn’t have talked to you in the first place.  It was a mistake.  You don’t need to know about Laura—just forget about her, and move on.”

I gaped up at his set jaw, his brusque words slamming into my chest.  “Is that what you’re going to do?” I couldn’t help but ask, my voice threatening to begin trembling.  “Just move on from whatever happened to Laura?  Acting as though she never existed?!”

“It’s not your problem, Jane,” he retorted.  “It’s mine.”

“It doesn’t have to be—“

“Yes, it does.”

I blinked in surprise at his defeated tone, and suddenly realized we were back at the library, the entrance just a few steps away.  But I refused to leave the car, unwilling to just walk away from him.  Ignoring my resolution, Derek told me, “Get out of my car.”

When I didn’t move, and continued to stubbornly stare up at him, he stormed out of the car, walked with angry strides over to my door and nearly ripped it open.  His hand gruffly grabbed my forearm and he forcefully pulled me out, his harsh grip digging into my skin.  My back was pressed against the backseat window, the smooth glass brushing against a slice of bare skin that had escaped from the bottom of my t-shirt.  I opened my mouth to protest, but then Derek’s face was inches from mine, his glare ripping through me like a stray bullet.  “Go to work, Jane,” he told me in a dangerously low voice.  “Go home.  Get on with your life.  Forget about all of this.”

He was so close that I could easily count each of his long, dark eyelashes.  Mutely I nodded, all the fight rushing out of me with just one look into his intensely green eyes.  Derek stayed there for just a moment longer, tightly holding my arm and gazing deep into my own eyes before he vanished, his tires screeching in protest as he hastily sped away from the library and out of sight. 

As I stood there alone on the library steps, the first few droplets of rain dripping through my curly hair, I could feel his fingers continuing to dig into my skin, his warmth still so close that it took me quite a few minutes to remember the cold air threatening to wrap me up in its icy grip. 

 

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**Okay, that’s it for this chapter.  I hope you all enjoyed it.  Thanks for reading, and don’t forget to leave a review!**

 

 

 

 

 

 


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